Father and son celebrate the love of racing — and their special bond

A skinny young boy in a Yankees baseball cap sits beside a small turquoise cooler at the campground.

A skinny young boy in a Yankees baseball cap sits beside a small turquoise cooler at the campground.

Two webbed aluminum lawn chairs face a small grill near an old Jeep Cherokee — the kind that could carry camping equipment for two men and a boy on a weekend retreat.

The boy's father sits in one of the chairs as his own father takes a photo in the summer of 1992.

This weekend marks the 20th anniversary that Dave Dries and his son, Brian, first traveled to Pocono Raceway for NASCAR race weekend.

It was a tradition born out of a love of cars and survived and thrived through the love between a father and his son.

Dave, 58, of Gettysburg, first took his son Brian, 29, a media specialist for the City of Philadelphia, to the races at Pocono in 1992, when Brian was only 9.

But it was Dave's father, Leonard, who began the tradition a decade earlier.

"When we started going up there in the early '80s, we day-tripped," Dave said of the outings with his father. "We got up early in the morning and drove through the traffic and then drove back home through the traffic. It made for really long days."

Leonard was an auto mechanic and owned a garage. And he knew cars. Dave spent summers working for him.

The two would sit in the bottom section of the concourse at Pocono. Those were the days when the greats were still driving — Waltrip, Petty, Earnhardt.

One year, a woman was sitting next to Dave's father at Pocono.

"She had four-inch fingernails," Dave said. "They were all painted the colors of Jeff Gordon's car, with the number 24. Every time his car came by, she would point her finger down the straightaway and yell "GO!" For all 200 laps. I remember kidding my dad about that all the way home."

Although the two worked together, Dave knew outings were unique.

"It was the only times I could remember my dad going away without my mother. It was that special."

The day trips became three-day camping adventures.

"Spending the whole weekend with my dad, sitting in the stands, talking about cars, it was special."

When Dave began bringing his son Brian to the races in the early '90s, Dave noticed a change.

"I think my dad just enjoyed it more," Dave said. "He had his grandson along. And what made it better is, it's always great to take someone for the first time or two."

Brian recalled the connection between his father and grandfather during his early years at the track.

"I remember sitting with those two. They would know the difference, whether it was a Ford or Chevy, the different types of motors, chassis. I certainly admired it. I still admire that today."

By 1998, Leonard's health was failing. That summer's race was his last. He died the following year.

"I remember after my grandfather died, I could tell when we were at Pocono that my dad was reflecting on being with his dad," Brian said. "Without him saying that, I knew. He would bring up old stories. He still does when he goes up there."

Now Dave swings by Philadelphia with his 31-foot motor home and picks up his son for the drive to Pocono.

Commemorative race pins are mounted on the camper's outer shell, an artifact of races past.

Oh, they have their rituals. Wings and fries one night during the trip. And Miller beer.

"I don't think we've taken anything but Miller Light," Brian said.

They usually wander down to the tunnel turn for part of the race.

It's a tradition.

Although Dave and his son see each other during the year, race weekend is different.

"It's more than just racing," Brian said. "It's a time for us not to think about work or anything else, just enjoy it."

As they watch the races from the top of the motor home this weekend, Dave's mind will no doubt drift to the times spent with his father.

And Brian will think about the two men, how he looked up to them as they camped, talked cars and made the young boy part of something unique.

And along with the memories will be that old turquoise cooler, weathered by time, yet a survivor — along with a bond forged near a triangle in the mountains.